Pattern Recognition
Chapter Eight — Between Floors
Post-RE9 | Grace Ashcroft x Fem!Reader | Slow Burn | Workplace Tension | Reader POV primarily.
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By 8:47 p.m., it was just the two of you.
Again.
The bullpen stretched around you in pockets of empty desks and sleeping monitors. Most of the overhead lights had dimmed automatically. Somewhere down the hall, a vacuum cleaner hummed faintly.
Rain slid steadily down the windows.
Of course it did.
You were beginning to suspect the city only existed in two states:
Raining.
About to rain.
Grace sat beside you reviewing final revisions while you finished formatting the field summary.
Neither of you had mentioned the archive room.
The moment neither of you had stepped back.
The almost.
Neither of you had needed to.
It lingered anyway.
Quietly.
Patiently.
The awareness hadn't disappeared.
It had simply settled.
Which was arguably worse.
You glanced sideways.
Grace was concentrating.
Or trying to.
Her eyes remained fixed on the monitor.
The cursor hadn't moved in almost thirty seconds.
You absolutely unpacked that.
"Grace."
Her head lifted immediately.
"…yeah?"
"You've been staring at the same paragraph."
She blinked.
Looked down.
Then sighed.
"…rude."
You smiled.
"Accurate."
Grace looked at you over the top of her glasses.
There it was.
The look.
You were becoming increasingly fond of that look.
Focus.
Then, Grace's phone buzzed.
She glanced down.
A tiny smile appeared immediately.
You filed that away.
For entirely professional reasons.
She answered the call.
"Hey."
A pause.
Then—
"No, she's still awake?"
The smile widened slightly.
You looked away.
Entirely for self-preservation.
Failed immediately.
Grace listened for a moment.
Then laughed softly.
A real one.
Warm.
"Leon…"
Whatever he said next earned an eye roll.
"She's going to be impossible tomorrow."
Another pause.
Then quieter—
"…are you sure?"
You recognised that tone.
The one she used when accepting help felt unfamiliar.
Grace listened.
Looked briefly toward the rain-dark windows.
Then nodded.
Even though he couldn't see it.
"Okay."
A softer pause.
"Tell her goodnight for me."
Another.
"…thank you."
She ended the call.
"Everything okay?"
Grace slipped her phone into her pocket.
"Yeah."
You waited.
Because she looked like she wanted to say something.
"Emily asked if she could stay with Leon tonight."
You blinked.
"I take it he's the fun one?"
The corner of Grace's mouth twitched.
"Apparently."
You already knew that expression.
"Leon said yes immediately, didn't he?"
Grace sighed.
"...before she finished asking."
You laughed.
A notification appeared on her monitor.
Dempsy.
Grace opened it.
Read.
Paused.
Then turned the monitor slightly toward you.
Go home.
That was it.
The entire message.
You laughed immediately.
"Efficient."
"He sounds tired."
"He sounds done with us."
Grace's mouth twitched.
Then—
to your immense satisfaction—
she smiled.
A real one.
Small.
Warm.
Yours.
The thought arrived before you could stop it.
You looked away first.
Self-preservation.
Marginally successful.
Grace gathered her files together.
Slowly.
Methodically.
Far more methodically than required.
You recognised stalling when you saw it.
Interesting.
Because so were you.
The report had been finished ten minutes ago.
Neither of you had moved.
Rain tapped softly against the windows.
The office felt suspended somehow.
Like the day wasn't quite ready to end.
Eventually Grace stood.
You followed.
The moment felt oddly significant.
More significant than leaving work should have.
You gathered your jacket.
Grace slipped her blazer on.
The familiar rhythm of departure.
Yet—
different.
Because now every small thing carried weight.
The walk to the elevator was quiet.
Comfortably so.
Your shoulders brushed once in the corridor.
Neither of you moved apart.
The elevator arrived almost immediately.
Grace stepped inside first.
You followed.
The doors slid shut.
Silence.
The hum of machinery.
Descending floor numbers.
Just the two of you.
The elevator suddenly felt smaller than usual.
You looked forward.
Grace looked forward.
Both of you behaving like remarkably normal people.
Fraudulent.
Entirely fraudulent.
The floor indicator dropped.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
You became aware of Grace shifting beside you.
Tiny movement.
Nothing significant.
Except you noticed.
Of course you noticed.
The awareness between you had become impossible to ignore now.
Not uncomfortable.
Just—
present.
Constant.
Like a second conversation happening beneath every real one.
Three.
Two.
One.
The elevator slowed.
Then—
stopped.
Not the lobby.
Between floors.
The lights flickered once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
Silence.
You looked up.
Grace looked up.
The floor indicator remained stubbornly frozen.
"…oh."
You blinked.
"Oh?"
Grace looked toward the control panel.
"…I think we're stuck."
You stared.
Then looked back at her.
Then at the panel.
Then back at her.
"You've got to be kidding."
A brief silence.
Grace's grip tightened slightly around her bag.
"I wish I was."
The elevator remained completely motionless.
The emergency lights glowed softer than the normal overhead ones.
Everything suddenly felt closer.
Warmer.
More intimate.
Problematic.
You pressed the help button.
A crackle of static answered.
Then a bored security voice.
"Yeah?"
"We appear to be trapped."
Pause.
"Oh."
Not reassuring.
Not remotely reassuring.
More static.
Then:
"Maintenance is on their way."
The line disconnected.
You stared at the speaker.
"…excellent."
Silence settled again.
You turned toward Grace.
Then stopped.
Something had changed.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
Grace had gone very still.
Not frightened.
Not visibly.
Just—
still.
The kind of stillness that looked deliberate.
Controlled.
Like she was holding something in place.
Her eyes remained fixed on the elevator doors.
Her hand tightened around the strap of her bag.
A fraction.
Enough.
Enough to cause concern.
"Grace."
No response.
Not immediately.
The emergency lighting reflected faintly in her glasses.
You noticed the way her breathing had shortened.
The way her shoulders had locked.
Not panic.
Something older than panic.
Something familiar.
You softened immediately.
"Hey."
This time she looked at you.
A fraction too slowly.
"What are you thinking about?"
A pause.
Long enough to answer the question by itself.
Then quietly—
"…nothing."
The lie landed gently between you.
You didn't challenge it.
Not immediately.
The elevator hummed softly around you.
Steel walls.
No movement.
No exit.
Grace swallowed.
Then looked away.
"I just- I don't like being trapped."
There it was.
Small.
Honest.
The truth.
Your chest tightened.
Because you knew enough.
Not every detail.
Not every nightmare.
But enough.
Enough to understand.
You stepped a little closer.
Not crowding.
Not cornering.
Just close enough that she wouldn't feel alone.
"Good news."
Grace looked suspicious immediately.
"What?"
"If this was a biohazard incident, we'd be doing significantly worse."
A reluctant breath escaped her.
Not quite a laugh.
You continued.
"No infected."
A tiny smile appeared.
"No emergency lockdown."
Another fraction.
"No mysterious pharmaceutical corporations."
That finally earned a real laugh.
Brief.
Breathless.
But real.
"That one wasn't funny."
"You laughed."
"Against my better judgement."
“Good. I was starting to think professionalism had consumed you entirely.”
Grace rolled her eyes.
But some of the tension had left her shoulders.
Not gone.
Just lighter.
Manageable.
Neither of you had anywhere to go.
No report to hide behind.
No archive folders.
No contractor timelines.
Just—
you.
And Grace.
And the awareness neither of you had been particularly successful at ignoring.
Grace leaned lightly against the wall.
Not looking at you initially.
Then—
slowly—
she did.
The elevator seemed very quiet suddenly.
The rain beyond the lobby.
The soft hum of emergency power.
Your pulse.
Grace tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
A familiar nervous habit.
She realised you'd noticed.
That made her flush.
Slightly.
The situation was deteriorating rapidly.
Your voice came out softer than intended.
"Nervous?"
Grace looked at you.
One beat.
Then another.
"…a little."
Honest.
Dangerously honest.
You swallowed.
"About the elevator?"
The corner of her mouth twitched.
Tiny.
Warm.
"No."
Oh.
Oh, that was worse.
Much worse.
The space between you shifted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
A line neither of you had crossed suddenly visible beneath your feet.
Grace looked away first.
Toward the doors.
Toward anything else.
Then quietly—
"You make things difficult."
Your heart did something deeply unprofessional.
"I do?"
She laughed softly through her nose.
The sound was almost embarrassed.
Almost fond.
"…yes."
Silence.
Tiny.
Heavy.
The elevator suddenly felt too small.
You stepped closer before thinking.
Not much.
Enough.
Giving her room.
Grace didn't move away.
Didn't retreat.
Didn't apologise.
Just—
stayed.
The distance between you narrowed.
A few feet.
Then less.
Your pulse had become entirely unhelpful.
Grace looked up.
Her eyes searched yours through the reflection on her glasses.
Uncertain.
Hopeful.
Terrified.
Brave.
You had seen Grace face impossible things.
You had seen intelligence reports that would make most people freeze.
You had watched her hold entire investigations together through sheer determination.
Yet somehow—
this seemed harder.
Because this mattered.
The realisation settled heavily between you.
Your voice lowered, rough around the edges.
"Grace."
Her breath caught.
Small sound.
Loud enough anyway.
"…yeah?"
The way she said that sent heat pooling low in your belly.
You smiled faintly.
Not teasing.
Not hiding.
Just honest.
And for the first time—
you stopped being careful enough to disguise it.
Grace saw it immediately.
The want.
The affection.
The terrible, beautiful truth you'd both been orbiting for weeks.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Then darkened.
The silence stretched.
Neither of you looking away.
Neither of you retreating.
The rain continued outside.
The elevator remained stubbornly stuck.
And somehow—
you found yourself absurdly grateful for it.
Grace's gaze dropped briefly to your mouth.
Not far.
Just enough.
Your pulse stumbled.
Then she looked back up.
Colour rising slowly into her cheeks.
No denial.
No apology.
No retreat.
Just—
Grace.
Standing in front of you.
Choosing to stay.
Your hand lifted carefully.
Slowly.
Giving her every opportunity to stop you.
To step away.
To say no.
She didn't.
Your fingers brushed a loose strand of hair near her cheek.
Tucking it gently back behind her ear.
But you didn't pull away.
Instead, your palm cupped the side of her face.
Thumb stroking slowly along her jaw.
Grace closed her eyes briefly at the touch.
The reaction nearly ruined you.
When she opened them again—
the distance felt unbearable.
Her hand found your sleeve.
Tiny.
Intentional.
Her fingers tightened slightly around your sleeve.
Your breath caught.
The elevator disappeared.
The rain disappeared.
Everything disappeared except Grace.
And the way she was looking at you.
And somehow that was all it took.
"Grace."
Barely a whisper now.
When her gaze lifted again, she looked caught.
"…yeah?"
You smiled.
Warm.
Terrified.
Hopeful.
Exactly the same things she was.
Then—
You leaned forward slowly.
Giving her every chance to stop you.
Every chance to step back.
Every chance to change her mind.
She didn't.
The last inch disappeared almost accidentally.
A soft brush of lips.
Tentative.
Warm.
The kind of kiss that felt less like a decision and more like finally admitting something that had been true for weeks.
Grace froze.
Exactly as expected.
For half a second.
Then her hand slid up to your shoulder.
And she kissed you back.
The sound she made was tiny.
Barely there.
Enough to completely destroy your ability to think.
Shared breath.
Neither speaking.
Neither moving.
Grace blinked once.
Twice.
Her glasses had slipped slightly down her nose.
You were suddenly very aware of that.
And of her.
And of the fact that you'd just kissed her.
"Oh."
The word escaped her quietly.
You smiled.
"Yeah."
Grace stared at you.
Still processing.
Still looking slightly stunned.
"We…"
"Yep."
Another pause.
A longer one.
Her cheeks darkened immediately.
"Fuck."
Your laugh escaped before you could stop it.
Grace covered her face with one hand.
Mortified.
"You laughed."
"We're stuck in an elevator."
"We're stuck in an elevator and I just kissed you."
"Also true."
She made a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh.
When she looked back up, something had changed.
The uncertainty was still there.
But so was relief.
And affection.
And something warmer.
"You really make things difficult."
You smiled.
"You mentioned that."
Grace shook her head softly.
Like she was still trying to process everything that had just happened.
Then her fingers tightened suddenly in the front of your shirt.
Determined.
Nervous.
Brave.
And before you could say anything—
she kissed you again.
The second kiss was less tentative.
Not because either of you suddenly knew what you were doing.
Because neither of you wanted to stop.
Grace's fingers tightened in the front of your shirt.
Steady.
Choosing
The careful distance you'd both spent weeks maintaining finally gave way.
Not all at once.
Just enough.
Your hand slipped gently into her hair.
The movement earned a small inhale.
The kind that immediately made your pulse forget how to function.
Grace moved closer.
Or maybe you did.
At some point it stopped mattering.
The elevator felt impossibly small.
Not because you were trapped inside it.
Because Grace was standing here.
Looking at you like this.
Choosing you.
When the kiss finally broke, neither of you moved far.
Shared breath.
Foreheads almost touching.
The kind of closeness that made everything else feel strangely unimportant.
Glasses slightly fogged.
Grace laughed first.
Breathless.
Disbelieving.
A little overwhelmed.
"Oh shit."
You smiled immediately, still holding her close.
“I think I prefer this version of you.”
"What?"
"The person making professionalism increasingly difficult."
Grace looked scandalised, cheeks burning.
Then laughed again, softer this time, pressing her face into your shoulder.
And somehow—
that felt almost as good as the kiss.
Almost.
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End of Chapter Eight.